


be the one I'll always know

by prouvairing



Series: The Plural of Enjolras [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Family Fluff, Grantaire Meets The Kids, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairing/pseuds/prouvairing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Grantaire walks into the cafè, he stops on his tracks at the sight before him. He’s the first one in, except Enjolras, who is sitting at their usual table and has two extremely blond children draped all over him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	be the one I'll always know

**Author's Note:**

> And we're at the end!

When Grantaire wakes up, Enjolras’ room is bathed in golden light. The digital clock, half hidden behind a political theory book, tells him it’s past noon already, and Grantaire stretches upwards, curling his hands around the headboard.

His thighs and buttocks are sore from clenching them through his orgasms last night. He smiles in the pillow, like a cat who got the cream.

When he reaches towards the other side of the bed, however, he finds it empty.

If this had happened earlier he knows he would have panicked. But it’s been a month, and he has woken up with a sleep-warm, pliant Enjolras attached to his chest enough times that only a slight anxiety kindles in his belly. Nothing to be done about _that_.

He gets up, running a hand through his god-awful bed hair, and makes vague zombie noises as he pulls on a pair of even more god-awful red sweatpants that are _definitely_ Enjolras’. The hang a bit low on his hips, but really, the terrible eye-punching color would have been enough of a tell.

He pads to the kitchen and finds still no sign of Enjolras – and he knows he has nothing to worry about, it’s Tuesday and Enjolras has class at ten and he’s glad Enjolras didn’t wake him up at eight, he is.

Still, his stomach doesn’t settle until he sees a big, bright yellow post-it stuck to the coffee machine.

He reads it as he sips cold coffee and smiles.

Half an hour later, when he is locking the door to Enjolras’ apartment and taking the steps two at a time, his smile has not yet ended.

*

_Dear R_ ,

_Your hair looked ridiculous this morning, I hope you know. There’s coffee in the pot, though it might have gone cold by the time you wake up. I left the keys in the bowl by the door, please lock when you go out and you can give them back at the meeting. Don’t forget your gloves, I found them and put them on the radiator so they’re warm._

_I’ll see you tonight. I love you._

_E x_

*

At seven on the dot Grantaire walks into the Musain, ready to tease Enjolras about putting x’s after his signature and also maybe (certainly) kiss him silly, like he’s been wanting to do since he’s seen that scrawled _I love you_ in blue ink on neon-yellow paper.

It isn’t the first time Enjolras has said it, even he knows that the first _I love you_ shouldn’t be thrown around on post-its. Still, it had gone only marginally better, on a morning much like the one Grantaire had just experienced, save for the presence of a very sleepy, rumpled Enjolras who had mumbled “I love you” as Grantaire handed him coffee.

A Grantaire who may or may not have gone down on his knees to kiss his own ‘I love you’s into Enjolras’ thighs, and then proceeded to blow him right there against the kitchen counter.

Anyway, when Grantaire walks into the cafè, he stops on his tracks at the sight before him. He’s the first one in, except Enjolras, who is sitting at their usual table and has two extremely blond children draped all over him.

A young girl, eleven years old at most, is perched on the back rung of Enjolras’ chair, her arms draped over his shoulders and her chin hooked over his head. Her head is a riot of golden curls, tied back in a bun. If Grantaire had thought Enjolras’ hair was wild he hadn’t known the first thing about it.

There’s also a six-year-old boy curled up in Enjolras’ lap, looking for all intents and purposes like a tiny cherub armed with crayons.

Grantaire is still frozen in the door when Enjolras finally looks up and meets his eye. A smile lights up his face and it isn’t doing anything to help Grantaire breathe.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras waves in his direction, which prompts his siblings – it really can be no one else, not with the dimples and the freckles and the perfect noses – to look up as well. Aurelie’s mouth drops into a perfect _o_ , and then she shakes Enjolras’ shoulder rather violently.

“That’s Grantaire? Hello Grantaire!” she exclaims, bright and bubbly. Maximilien is quiet and just stares at him in awe.

Finally, Grantaire makes his way to the table, feeling extremely awkward and tense and, most of all, certain that he is going to royally screw this up. These are Enjolras’ siblings, possibly the two people he cares about most in the world. Making a good impression is of paramount importance, and Grantaire hasn’t been known to make good first impressions.

He isn’t sure what to do when he reaches them, but Enjolras takes the choice out of his hands by arching up towards him, almost jostling Aurelie off in the process.

Grantaire knows that look, that almost coy tilt of his head. Enjolras wants to be kissed.

He isn’t sure what’s appropriate, so he settles for dropping a kiss just by the corner of Enjolras’ mouth.

When he gets up, Enjolras isn’t even trying not to pout, Aurelie is smirking and Maximilien is wrinkling his nose.

It’s going to be a long, long meeting.

Grantaire finally sits down, at Enjolras’ left, and shoots a crooked smile in Maximilien’s direction. The boy blushes scarlet, scowls, and closes in on his drawing. Grantaire tries not to look too disappointed.

“Don’t mind that,” whispers Enjolras. He absently runs a hand through Maximilien’s hair. “He’s just shy.”

By the way the boys scowl deepens, he does not appreciate that. Grantaire can’t help but crack a smile at the family resemblance.

He’s about to ask what the kids are doing here – he doesn’t remember Enjolras mentioning a visit – when the door jingles open and Courfeyrac shouts: “Will you look at that!”

He storms in with a smiling Combeferre at his heels, and opens his arms wide. Aurelie shrieks and hops off Enjolras’ chair, practically tackling Courfeyrac.

“What’s with this abundance of Enjolras… es? Enjolrai? Enjolrati?” he turns to Combeferre, grinning. It’s an old, worn debate. “What say you, guide? What’s the plural of Enjolras?”

“I’m going to go with Enjolras. Doesn’t change,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Grantaire nods and adds, “Like _sheep_.”

Enjolras gives him a pained, betrayed look. Then he sighs. “Father had a conference and Mother couldn’t pass up on Paris in the spring so they moved the family en masse.”

“And we decided to sneak out and see Alex,” pipes up Aurelie, who is now settled in Courfeyrac’s lap.

“You didn’t _sneak out_ , Aurelie, Marie dropped you off,” Enjolras corrects her. “And she’s going to pick you up later.”

His shoulders slump ever so slightly, and the disappointment on his face would be imperceptible, were he not surrounded by the people who know him best.

“Well, she doesn’t have to, if you let us stay the night,” Aurelie argues, nudging him with her foot. At this, Maximilien twists in Enjolras’ lap to grab ahold of his cardigan.

“Yes, please Alex, _can we?”_ he whines. Grantaire’s heart melts. If he cared about his manliness ( _a social construct,_ Enjolras and Jehan would say), he’d have to punch a wall to recover it.

Enjolras’ eyes find his, questioning. There are vague plans for dinner, or a movie, or _something_ , tonight, and the mere fact that he would ask only melts Grantaire’s heart further.

Grantaire grins and bats his eyelashes. “ _Can we_ , Alex?”

Enjolras snorts and whispers, “Don’t.” He is also smiling, and he presses a kiss to Maximilien’s head. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Grantaire really, really wants to have his babies.

The room fills up quickly, and everyone fawns over the kids in turn. Aurelie manages to endear herself to everyone, to the point of arm-wrestling with Bahorel and sitting between Cosette and Jehan to have her hair braided.

Maximilien doesn’t move from his brother’s lap, and no one manages to coax more than a shy smile and a blush from him.

Until Grantaire, halfway through the meeting – supremely bored with the current conversation – bends towards him and whispers, “Hey, buddy, think I can borrow a crayon?”

Maximilien regards him for a long moment, brows arched in an unimpressed, thoroughly Enjolras look.

Grantaire says, “Please?”

Maximilien nods thoughtfully and passes him a blue crayon and a piece of paper. “You need that too,” he explains. Of course. What else is he gonna draw on?

Grantaire ignores the fact that he has a sketchbook in his coat pocket and takes crayon and paper with a small smile. He then proceeds to do what he does best: draw Enjolras.

Maximilien interrupts his own drawing halfway, with a quiet gasp, to stare at Grantaire’s. He spends the next five minutes watching him finish the rough sketch.

Grantaire pushes it towards him quietly: it’s Enjolras with Maximilien in his lap, kissing his curls as he’d done earlier.

Maximilien’s eyes dart from the drawing to Grantaire and back to the drawing. After a moment of consideration, he climbs out of Enjolras’ lap and onto Grantaire’s.

Everyone is very careful not to take notice, and the meeting progresses as if nothing had happened.

“What should I draw next?”

“Draw me Taylor Swift?”

“You want me to draw you Taylor Swift.”

“Yes. She sings pretty and her hair’s just like Aurelie’s!”

Enjolras, who is listening carefully to something Feuilly is saying, smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> The titles of all the fics come from _Look After You_ by The Fray, specifically
> 
> _There now, steady love, so few come and don't go_  
>  will you, won't you, be the one I'll always know?  
> When I'm losing my control, the city spins around  
> you're the only one who knows, you slow it down. 
> 
> Which always gives me baby feels.
> 
> This is it, the fic is officially done. I do have a couple of ideas of other things that might happen in this 'verse, but they're not elaborate enough for fic yet. Besides I have other projects I want to try to work on ( _and oh, Serena, remember your final exams?_ Exams? What exams?). I might think about opening this up again if enough people request.
> 
> As always, come say hello on [tumblr](seagreeneyes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
